


Why do you fill my sorrow?

by givebackmylifecas



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Depressed Jaskier, Emotionally Repressed, Geralt is an idiot, Happy Ending, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt/Comfort, Jaskier | Dandelion Has Feelings, M/M, Magic, Post-Canon, Post-Canon Fix-It, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-26
Updated: 2020-02-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:01:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22913626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/givebackmylifecas/pseuds/givebackmylifecas
Summary: Yennefer seems unaffected by his rage. “You’re here because Jaskier needs you.”“Clearly he doesn’t. He’s getting married, isn’t he?”“That’s beside the point. Look at him and tell me he looks happy.”“I haven’t seen him in six years, Yen. Things have changed.”Six years after Geralt leaves Jaskier on the mountain, Yennefer asks him to attend the bard's wedding and set things right. But something about Jaskier isn't right and Geralt doesn't see how the bard can forgive him for his cruel words.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 37
Kudos: 687





	Why do you fill my sorrow?

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so this is my first fic outside of the spn fandom so this might be a little ooc, but I just love Geralt and Jaskier. I've only read one of the books and seen the Netflix series, so if there's any lore related mistakes that will be why lol
> 
> Trigger warnings are in the tags and the title is from Damien Rice's song "Delicate"

Geralt is covered in kikimore guts and dripping with swamp water when he gets the news. Getting the news, in this case, means a portal appearing out of thin air and Yennefer stepping through it, wrinkling her nose at his appearance.

“Hello Geralt,” she says, haughty as ever.

He stares at her, waiting for her to say something.

“Where’s the princess?”

“With Roach,” he grunts.

Yennefer gestures for him to walk ahead of her. “Shall we? It’s been too long since I’ve seen her.”

Geralt sighs, but does as he’s told, trudging through the forest and towards the clearing where he and Ciri had made camp. Ciri is where he left her, sitting cross-legged on her bed roll, attempting to whittle a pipe out of a bit of wood. She looks up when she hears them approach, face splitting into a wide grin.

“Yen!”, she cries, flinging herself into the sorceress’ arms. It always amazes Geralt how Yennefer softens around Ciri. Sometimes he imagines that if things were different, if they had met differently, Yennefer would be like this more often.

“What are you doing here?”, Ciri asks, disentangling herself from Yennefer.

Yennefer’s mouth twists in wry amusement and pulls a piece of paper from the bodice of her low-cut dress. “I’m here to deliver an invitation.”

“An invitation?” Ciri looks delighted, already reaching for the paper.

Yennefer keeps the paper out of the girl’s reach and instead hands it to Geralt. “It’s from your bard. He’s getting married.”

“What bard?” Ciri’s face displays her confusion, but Geralt can’t speak, finds the words even further from his reach than usual.

On the paper in front of him, in gold calligraphy, he is being invited to attend the marriage of the Lady Anstruz to Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove – but all he can see is Jaskier’s face when Geralt left him on the mountain. He regretted the words, not instantly of course, Geralt is too stubborn for that. But later, when the silence of the road became oppressive, he would find himself wishing for the sound of Jaskier’s inane chatter, quick fingers plucking at the strings of a lute, the way Jaskier would whistle to the songbirds as if he was one of them.

 _If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands._ Try as he might, Geralt can’t forget the way Jaskier’s face crumpled, his shoulders slumped, when Geralt spit those cruel words at him.

“His name is Jaskier,” Yennefer explains, when it becomes clear that Geralt isn’t going to say anything. “He and Geralt travelled together for quite some time. It’s because of him that Geralt was at your parents’ betrothal where he claimed the law of surprise.”

Ciri’s eyes are impossibly wide. “Really? Geralt why did you never tell me you travelled with Jaskier? I heard his songs all the time in Cintra.”

“We didn’t part on good terms.”

Ciri frowns. “What did he do?”

Yennefer grins like a cat. “I think the question you should be asking, is what did Geralt do?”

“Shut up, Yen,” Geralt growls. “Why are you even delivering this for him? You're not the kind to be running errands.”

She sighs, the grin sliding off her face. “I’m not just delivering an invitation. I’m here to pick you up.”

“I’m not going.”

“Yes you are.”

“I won’t.”

“Geralt, please.” Yennefer’s words startle him. Her face is serious, her eyes clouded with concern. It’s the closest he’s ever seen her come to begging. “You need to come to this wedding, think of it as a job for all I care.”

“How would it be a job?”

Yennefer crosses the campsite, delicately taking a seat on a fallen log. “There’s something going on with Jaskier, Geralt. He isn’t himself.”

“Since when are you his friend?” Geralt asks, scowling at her.

“Since you decided you weren’t anymore. He helped me out of a sticky situation a while ago, sang us right out of trouble.”

Geralt clenches a fist, aware of Yennefer’s eyes still on him. “Then what do you need me for? If he’s been cursed then I’m sure you’re capable of fixing it.”

“Geralt, just come with me. It’s been years, surely you can make up with him now?”

Geralt is preparing to tell Yennefer to fuck off when Ciri pipes up. “Please Geralt, I want to go to Jaskier’s wedding. And… I think you should make up with him.”

Geralt nods curtly, unable to refuse her, despite how the thought of seeing Jaskier again makes his stomach twist as if he’s eaten rotten meat.

“Good.” Yennefer gets to her feet, dusting herself off. “Gather your things, we must be on our way, the wedding is tomorrow.” She waves her hand and another portal appears. “Come on now, hurry up.”

“I’m not leaving Roach,” Geralt says, as Ciri darts about, packing up her stuff.

Yennefer rolls her eyes. “She can come with us. You know just as well as I do that the portals don’t affect animals negatively, only humans. Now stop stalling and go!”

Geralt helps Ciri place the last of the bags onto Roach’s back and leads the horse through the portal. Only having known Yennefer and her portals for decades enables him to keep his lunch. Behind him, he hears Ciri is not quite so lucky.

“Where are we?”, Ciri asks Yennefer.

“Garramone, in Temeria. Jaskier is to wed Count Robert’s daughter,”, Yennefer tells her. “Come, this is where I’m staying.” She takes them to a large house, on what seems to be the outskirts of the town. In the distance, Geralt can see turrets belonging to what he assumes must be the Count’s castle. As Yennefer approaches the house a servant appears almost out of thin air and Geralt reluctantly hands Roach’s reins over to him.

Yennefer’s house is just as opulent as Geralt had expected. What he doesn’t expect is to be led into the living room, only to walk straight into Jaskier.

Jaskier stumbles backwards, landing rather unceremoniously on the chaise-longue behind him. He looks the same, but not. He hasn’t aged much, he is still dressed in garishly coloured silk clothing, and his hair is still a mess. His clothes are impeccably well tailored, but Geralt can see how much smaller his waist looks, how gaunt and tired his face is.

“Yen, what’s going on?”, the bard asks, his eyes darting between Yennefer and Geralt and Geralt can smell the fear on him and something more metallic, underneath his usual perfume. “Why is he here?”

Geralt turns to Yennefer. “What does he mean? I thought he invited us?”

“Invited you? I did no such thing!” Jaskier exclaims.

Yennefer scowls. “Enough! Jaskier, sit down and I’ll explain things to you soon. Ciri, why don’t you go introduce yourself to him? Geralt, come with me and I’ll show you where you’ll be staying.”

Ciri immediately goes bounding over to Jaskier and Geralt lets himself be dragged from the room. He follows Yennefer up the stairs and into a lavishly furnished bedroom with a massive copper bathtub in the middle of the room.

“What the hell is going on Yennefer? Why am I here?” Geralt asks, purposely aggressive.

To her credit, Yennefer seems unaffected by his rage. “You’re here because Jaskier needs you.”

“Clearly he doesn’t. He’s getting married, isn’t he?”

“That’s beside the point. Look at him and tell me he looks happy.”

“I haven’t seen him in six years, Yen. Things have changed.”

Yennefer sighs. “Not that much, not for him. Just stay, spend some time with him.”

Geralt shakes his head. “No. Maybe he looks a little tired, I’ve heard weddings do that to some people.”

“Geralt,” Yennefer says warningly.

“No, Yennefer. Give me an actual reason to stay, not this bullshit.”

Yennefer looks at him, her gaze steady and something almost pitying in it. “He doesn’t sing anymore Geralt. At all. He hasn’t performed since he got here. As much as I found him irritating the first few times we met, his talent was undeniable. Now he won’t pick up an instrument or even hum, no matter who asks.”

There’s a pain in his chest, when he hears her words. She’s right, there’s something wrong with Jaskier. Apart from the incident with the djinn, Geralt could never get the man to shut up.

“What’s wrong with him?” he asks and Yennefer is still looking at him pityingly.

“I don’t know. It’s not a curse, he’s not been enthralled by any beast I know of and yet…”

“And yet what?” It comes out as more of a growl, but Geralt is getting tired of Yennefer’s riddles.

“Yet magic weighs on him, Geralt. It enshrouds him, he’s coated in it and it’s not nice magic either.”

“Blood magic?”

“It’s hard to be certain, but I suspect so.”

“Fuck.”

Yennefer actually smiles at that. “Eloquent as ever, Witcher. Now go bathe, you stink and I expect you to be at dinner in an hour. I’ll go check on Ciri and your bard.”

“He’s not my bard,” Geralt calls after her as she sweeps out of the room.

He enjoys the bath. He never really wants to know how Yennefer affords her luxuries – another reason they could never work – but he does enjoy them on occasion. When he’s scrubbed the kikimore blood out of his hair and dressed in clean clothes from his pack which he finds at the end of the bed, he makes his way downstairs. He finds Yennefer, Ciri, and Jaskier in the dining room, seated at a polished oak table. There are only four chairs and conveniently the one left for him is between Yennefer and Ciri – directly opposite Jaskier.

“Thank goodness you’re here Geralt, I’m starving!” Ciri says and Geralt almost smiles.

Jaskier shifts in his seat and Geralt can smell the fear again, and the metallic scent that he can now identify as blood magic. “So Yennefer has informed me that she has taken the liberty of inviting you to my wedding,” Jaskier says, eyes fixed on his plate.

Yennefer sighs. “I told you, you two needed to make up. What better time to do that, than on the eve of such a joyous occasion.”

Jaskier shoots her a dirty look that has Geralt suppressing another smile. “Well, despite her poor manners you’re here now, I supposed I can’t do anything about that.” Jaskier sounds accusatory and while Geralt can’t blame him, it still makes his hackles rise.

“I can go, if you like,” he says and Jaskier looks right at him for the first time since their surprise meeting in the living room. Geralt feels as though the air has been punched out of him at the hurt and anger in those blue eyes.

“Go on then. Although maybe I should be the one to leave, that seems to be what you prefer isn’t it?” Jaskier spits, knuckles white where he’s gripping the table.

“Boys,” Yennefer says warningly, but Geralt shakes his head.

“Let him speak Yen, clearly he has something to say.”

“Clearly I – I have something to say?” Jaskier’s voice is high-pitched in his indignation. “Isn’t it you who should be saying something to me?”

Geralt feels a little sick. He’s never seen Jaskier this angry and he knows he should be apologising, but what good would it do now that Jaskier has moved on? Now that Geralt will never be close with him again? “If this is about what happened on the mountain –“ he starts, but Jaskier interrupts him.

“If? Of fucking course it’s about what happened on the mountain, you great oaf! You sent me away! You blamed me for every bad thing that had ever happened to you! If? You’re unbelievable.”

The bard’s chest is heaving and he drops his cutlery with a clatter as he pushes out of his chair.

“Jaskier,” Geralt tries, but the bard shakes his head.

“Spare me, Geralt,” he says, striding away from the table.

“Jaskier, wait!”, Geralt calls, getting to his feet too.

Jaskier turns, his eyes cold as ice. “If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands! Do you remember saying that Geralt? Because I do. And right now all I want is for you to leave and our paths to never cross again!”

Geralt flinches at his own words being flung back at him and he watches Jaskier storm out of the dining room. There’s the sound of crashing and Jaskier’s footsteps on the stairs, then a final crash as a door slams on the upper floor of the house.

Geralt sinks back into his chair and finds both Ciri and Yennefer staring at him.

“That went well,” Yennefer says sardonically and Geralt growls at her.

He turns his head away from the sorceress when he hears Ciri say his name. She’s grown a lot in the five years they’ve travelled together, but right now she looks like a scared child. “Did you really say those things to him?” she asks, eyes wide. Geralt grunts and she looks down at her plate. “What did he do?”

Nothing, Geralt wants to say, nothing except being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Instead he just shrugs, unwilling to tell Ciri of the greatest regret of his very long life.

“I didn’t think he’d still be this angry,” Geralt says later, when Ciri has gone to bed, and he and Yennefer are sat in front of the fire, splitting a bottle of ridiculously expensive wine. “I always thought he’d got over it and was raking in coin somewhere at the coast.”

“It’s the people we love the most, that are the hardest to forgive,” Yennefer says.

Geralt snorts. “I hardly think he loves me. We were barely even friends.”

Yennefer looks at him like she thinks he might just be the stupidest person alive. “And you wonder why he’s angry. Of course you were friends Geralt, you travelled together for over a decade. That means something – especially to someone with a mortal lifespan.”

Geralt doesn’t answer, just drains his cup of wine and stares into the fire. Yennefer sighs. “At least help me try and find out who cast the blood magic. Whoever did it can’t be too far away from him and they would have a fresh wound – blood magic requires a sacrifice after all.”

Geralt grunts his agreement and Yennefer sighs. “Good night then Geralt, try and get some sleep, you’ll need your wits about you tomorrow.”

She departs with a soft hand trailing across his shoulder, the scent of gooseberries still hanging in the air long after she’s gone.

Geralt helps himself to another glass of wine and stays by the fire until it has almost entirely burned down. He is just about to go upstairs and collapse into bed when he realises he never checked on Roach. He’s sure Yennefer’s staff is competent, but he has to make sure she’s settled alright.

He makes his way through the dark house and out the back door to where he assumes the stables are. He follows his nose and Roach’s familiar scent to an outbuilding. He’s surprised to see a lamp burning in Roach’s stall, but just assumes one of the grooms forgot to put it out until he hears a voice.

He edges closer to the stable and peers over the door, to see Jaskier seated on an upturned crate, gently stroking Roach’s nose. The stubborn horse had developed a soft spot for the bard when he figured out which food to bribe her with.

“Wasn’t even sure you’d remember me. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” Jaskier asks the horse. Roach huffs and Jaskier’s face twitches into the first attempt at a smile Geralt has seen so far. “I know, I’m sorry. I never meant to leave you without saying goodbye. I hope Geralt feeds you sugar beets every now and then. You really should be spoiled more, shouldn’t you girl? At least you’re happy to see me. I don’t think anyone has been this happy to see me in months.”

Geralt hasn’t cried or laughed in years but he’s torn between the two now. Jaskier sounds so forlorn that it isn’t until a night breeze starts at the same time as Jaskier gets to his feet that Geralt smells it: fresh blood. He knows it isn’t Roach, she isn’t hurt and it smells human.

“Jaskier!” The name has left his mouth before he can stop it.

The bard startles, nearly tripping over his own feet as he turns to face Geralt. “I’m not doing anything.”

“I know,” Geralt says gruffly, the smell of blood still thick in the air.

“Oh,” Jaskier looks confused. “Then why are you here? What do you want?”

Instead of answering, Geralt steps into Roach’s box, closing the door behind him, effectively trapping Jaskier.

“What are you doing, Geralt?” Jaskier looks afraid and Geralt hates that the bard has ever been scared of him.

“Roll up your sleeves,” Geralt commands and Jaskier pales. “Do it now. You’re the one who has cast blood magic, I can smell it on you. I can smell the wound required for it.”

Jaskier shakes his head, his hands trembling. “No, you’ve got it wrong. I haven’t cast any magic.”

“Don’t lie to me Jaskier, I can smell the fresh blood!”

“It’s not from magic!”

“Then what’s it from?” Geralt demands, taking a step closer to Jaskier.

The bard backs away, pressing himself against the wall. Roach side-steps nervously at the two people crowded into her stall. “Nothing! I um, I tripped!”

Geralt growls in impatience and darts forward, grabbing both of Jaskier’s wrists with one hand, brusquely shoving the sleeves up to his elbows with the other.

Jaskier cries out and Geralt releases him almost immediately, but it’s too late. He has seen Jaskier’s arms. Has seen the cuts that litter them, some fresh enough to still ooze, some scabbed over, some scarred white with age.

“Why?” is all he manages to ask as Jaskier nervously dry-washes his hands, tears shining in his eyes. Jaskier shakes his head, mouth clamped shut and Geralt reaches out again, stopping just short of Jaskier’s shoulder, unsure if he’s allowed to touch. “Jaskier.” He doesn’t know if he’s ever said anyone’s name so carefully before.

“I don’t know how to explain,” Jaskier says eventually, his voice quiet. He’s still shaking, avoiding Geralt’s gaze.

“Come inside?” Geralt offers instead of pushing for an explanation. Jaskier nods and follows Geralt out of the stables.

They enter the silent house as quietly as they can, and it isn’t until they’re outside the door of a room that Geralt assumes is Jaskier’s, that the bard speaks again. “It hurts,” he says, so softly Geralt almost misses it.

“I have some pain potions in my bag-“, he offers before Jaskier shakes his head.

“No Geralt, not the cuts.” He smiles ruefully. “Well, I suppose they do, but that’s not what I meant.” Geralt doesn’t know what to say, but Jaskier continues speaking before he has to. “I mean living, being alive, being… me.”

“Why?” Geralt asks, but Jaskier just shakes his head.

“Doesn’t matter.” He looks thoughtful for a moment, then asks: “Do you know why I’m so… intense? Why I wear such expensive clothes, why I need everyone to hear my songs, need my music to be so much better than everyone else’s?”

Geralt blinks, confused, and shakes his head.

“To make up for it,” Jaskier says. “To make up for the fact that it’s me. It’s me writing the songs, me wearing the clothes. If everything else is perfect, then it doesn’t matter as much that I’m far from it.”

Words rarely come easily to Geralt, but he is genuinely speechless. Jaskier is still standing there with a self-deprecating little smile on his lips, as if he hadn’t just said the saddest thing Geralt had ever heard from a human.

“Jaskier,” he says, but he doesn’t know how to continue.

“It’s alright Geralt, you don’t have to say anything. In fact, I had better go to bed – big day tomorrow.” Jaskier turns and opens the door to his room.

“Do you love her?” Geralt doesn’t know what possessed him to ask, but the minute he’s voiced the question, he desperately wants to know the answer.

Jaskier shrugs, already half inside his room, his face obscured by shadows. “I think she loves me.” The door shuts behind him and Geralt stares at the polished wood.

 _I think she loves me_. That hadn’t answered the question at all and his traitorous heart seems to beat faster than usual.

He goes back to his room, stripping and sliding into the unfairly comfortable bed, but try as he might, sleep eludes him. All he can see is the cuts on Jaskier’s skinny forearms, the way the bard seemed so utterly hopeless. To make up for the fact that it’s me. The words echo in his ears and he wants to kill the beast that had made Jaskier feel this way, but there isn’t one. The closest thing to a culprit he can find is himself and he still doesn’t know how to make things right, still doesn’t know how to ask Jaskier to forgive him for the things he said, for sending away the one person who had stuck by him.

Eventually there’s movement in the house, servants busying themselves on the lower floors and when he hears both Yennefer and Ciri, Geralt dresses and goes downstairs to join them.

They’re seated at the dining table exactly the way they were last night, all dressed in finery. Yennefer is in a green dress that would be distracting under normal circumstances, Ciri is in a gown the Yennefer must have given her because Geralt certainly didn’t and dressed like this it’s hard to forget that she is no longer the little girl he met in the woods. Jaskier looks tired, but resplendent in a crimson and gold doublet with matching trousers.

“You couldn’t have made a little effort for the occasion?” Yennefer snipes, eyeing his leather ensemble.

“It’s clean,” he grunts and she rolls her eyes.

“No thanks to you. Do you know how long my servants scrubbed to get all that blood out?”

Geralt ignores her, instead focussing on Jaskier who is stirring his porridge, looking for all the world like a man sentenced to the gallows.

“You like nice, Jaskier,” Geralt says before he can regret it.

Jaskier drops his spoon, looking startled. “Um, thank you?”

Geralt grunts and tries to ignore he way Yennefer grins. A plate of eggs and bread is set in front of him and he digs in with fervour.

“Do hurry up and finish Geralt, the carriages are waiting.”

Geralt frowns. “Aren’t you just going to, you know?” He makes a circular motion with his hand, indicating her portals.

Yennefer scowls. “And risk poor Ciri and Jaskier ruining their clothes? Don’t be stupid.”

They are clearly on a tight schedule, because the minute Geralt swallows his last mouthful, Yennefer is chivvying them up and out of their seats.

As Yennefer said, there are carriages waiting outside for them and before Geralt can say anything, Yennefer and Ciri have disappeared in one, leaving him to awkwardly climb after Jaskier into the other.

The carriages move swiftly and based on the castle Geralt had seen yesterday, he can’t imagine it will be a long journey. It gives him little time to say the things he needs to.

Jaskier is staring out the window, looking lost in his own world. The sun is illuminating his face and throwing into relief a beauty Geralt had never recognised in the bard before. Jaskier isn’t like Yennefer at all, he’s soft where she is hard edged, kind where she is cutting, ridiculous where she is deadly, but Geralt and Yennefer had been too similar. They had tried, time and again and now they had finally gotten to the point where they are friends and Geralt wants to ask her if this is why they never worked. If it’s because whenever he was with her, there was a small part of him, suppressed and ignored, but always there that wondered what it would be like to do all this with Jaskier. To hold him, to kiss him, to wake up with him in the mornings and live out the rest of Jaskier’s life together.

Geralt glances out the window and sees that they are approaching the castle. There’s a mass of other carriages ahead of them, but he knows they have mere minutes before they arrive.

“Jaskier?” he asks, and the bard looks at him and Geralt almost loses all his convictions.

Jaskier frowns. “What is it?” If Geralt closes his eyes, they could be back on the road again, just him and Jaskier and Roach, looking for another contract and listening to Jaskier compose yet another factually inaccurate ballad about him. “Geralt?” Jaskier is still peering at him, his face twisted in confusion.

“Are you happy?” Geralt asks and Jaskier’s eyes widen. “Just… I’ve known you a long time and you don’t seem as happy as you should considering you’re getting married.”

Jaskier’s mouth twists unhappily. “I’m fine Geralt. This is just something I have to do.”

“You don’t have to do anything,” Geralt says forcefully. “If someone is threatening you then tell me who it is and I’ll sort them out.”

Jaskier almost smiles at that. “It’s okay Geralt, no one is making me do this.”

“But you aren’t happy.”

Jaskier shrugs. “Who is? Besides, there’s nothing you can do about it.”

Geralt nods, resigned. “I’m sorry.”

Jaskier waves a hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it.”

“No,” Geralt shakes his head. “I mean for what I said on the mountain. It was wrong of me to speak to you that way, you didn’t deserve it.” Jaskier looks stunned and Geralt ploughs on. “I shouldn’t have sent you away. I was angry at the world and you were there – after everything you were still there and I took it out on you and letting you walk away is the biggest regret of my life.”

Jaskier’s mouth is hanging open unattractively and if he weren’t about to get married, if Geralt weren’t such a coward then he would reach across the space between them and take Jaskier into his arms the way he’s wanted to for much longer than he’ll admit.

The carriage rolls to a stop and just as Jaskier looks as if he’s about to speak, the door flies open and a harried looking servant sticks his head in.

“My lord, everyone is waiting for you,” the man says. Jaskier throws Geralt a regretful look before climbing out into the castle courtyard. Geralt follows but stops when he hears Ciri calling his name. When he turns around again, Jaskier is gone, swallowed by the crowd of nobles.

Yennefer and Ciri appear in front of him and together they make their way into the banquet hall. They are ushered to their seats at a table very close to the main table where Jaskier sits next to a beautiful young girl with black hair and dark eyes – Lady Anstruz. Next to her is a severe looking man that Yennefer informs him is Count Robert.

The hall quickly fills and the marriage ceremony commences.

Jaskier looks nervous as he takes his place next to Lady Anstruz. The man performing the ceremony is short and balding and speaks with a lisp that causes Geralt to tune out everything but Jaskier’s heartbeat which he can hear, beating a little faster than normal.

Geralt’s concentration is broken when a knight with an unfamiliar emblem rushes into the middle of the hall. “Stop!” he yells and the girl turns, her eyes wide as she sees him.

“Josef?”, Lady Anstruz asks and Geralt can smell the desire on her.

“Please don’t do this,” Josef is begging. “Don’t marry him. I know it’s me you really love.” He stretches a hand towards her and Geralt knows what’s going to happen before it happens. Lady Anstruz takes his hand and Josef pulls her towards him, catching her in a passionate embrace.

There’s sounds of horror and outrage in the hall. Count Robert has drawn his sword and several guards are advancing on Josef, but Geralt only has eyes for Jaskier who looks like he’s been stabbed. His face is a deathly white and Geralt can smell the fear on him. For a second their eyes meet and then Jaskier is bolting from the hall. Geralt is out of his chair and following him before he knows it and he’s distantly aware of Yennefer and Ciri on his heels.

He finds Jaskier in an alcove near the main entrance, shaking from head to toe, releasing heart wrenching sobs into the cool air.

“Jaskier.” The bard doesn’t look up when Geralt calls his name. The witcher puts his pride aside and joins him on the floor, one hand resting tentatively on Jaskier’s shoulder. “Jaskier,” he tries again. Jaskier looks up at him, face puffy and red. “I’m sorry, Jaskier. She shouldn’t have done that, not in public.”

“She didn’t want me,” Jaskier chokes. “Why didn’t she want me? I needed her to want me.”

Geralt shakes his head, slowly moving his hand so that his whole arm is around Jaskier’s too skinny shoulders. “You didn’t need her,” he says, turning his head minutely when he hears Yennefer and Ciri arrive.

“You don’t understand. I loved so much and it hurt so much and I needed it to stop and I needed her to make it stop.”

Geralt frowns. “You can find someone else,” he suggests and Jaskier lets out a wounded moan.

“I’m out of time. It had to be her. It had to be today.”

“Jaskier you aren’t making any sense,” Geralt says just as Jaskier sucks in a breath, sharp with pain. Jaskier’s hands scrabble at the fastenings of his doublet and all of a sudden Geralt can smell fresh blood, but he doesn’t understand where it’s coming from.

“I had a year and I couldn’t do it! I thought I had it, but she – she didn’t want me!” Jaskier repeats and behind him, Geralt hears Yennefer hiss.

“You stupid boy,” she says, appearing in front of them, her hands pushing Jaskier’s away and ripping open his doublet with little regard for the material. The doublet opens to reveal a white shirt, stained red with blood. Yennefer curses and opens the shirt too and there, right over Jaskier’s heart is a gaping wound, as if he had been stabbed right in the chest.

“What happened?” Geralt growls. “Who did this to you?”

Jaskier whimpers, curling away from Yennefer’s appraising hands and further into the arm Geralt still has wrapped around him.

“He did it to himself!” Yennefer spits.

“What? Why?” Ciri looks horrified and just as confused as Geralt feels.

“It had to stop,” Jaskier rasps.

“What had to stop?” Geralt asks, but Jaskier looks like he’s struggling to breathe.

“It’s a spell,” Yennefer explains. “An old spell and dangerous. It removes feeling for another person, for someone you love. It usually comes with a trade, a stipulation, that you have to find someone else to love you. There’s often a time limit and I think Jaskier’s reached the end of his.”

Jaskier coughs and blood dribbles down his chin. “No!” Geralt growls. “Do something, fix him!”

Yennefer looks sad. “I can’t. Maybe if the sorcerer who cast the spell were here, they could do it. After the rejection, the only one who can save the subject of the spell is the person because of whom it was cast.”

Jaskier coughs again, making a pained little groan. “That could be anyone,” Geralt says. “Jaskier falls in love in every town he passes through.”

“Geralt!” Yennefer snaps. “Don’t be so dense.” She gestures at Jaskier who is half lying across Geralt’s chest looking up at him with so much emotion in his eyes that the witcher has to look away.

“’M sorry,” Jaskier rasps. “I know…”

“You know what?” Geralt asks. This is all so surreal, Yennefer can’t possibly be suggesting what he thinks she’s suggesting. Jaskier can’t possibly be in love with him. And yet… and yet Geralt remembers the look on Jaskier’s face when he told him to go. Remembers how soft the bard’s voice had been when he asked him to go to the coast with him. How he was always so jealous of Yennefer.

He’s so caught up in the maelstrom of thoughts that he almost misses the words coming from Jaskier’s bloodstained lips. “I know you don’t love me. S’not your fault.” He breaks off into a coughing fit again and groans when Yennefer’s hands press harder onto his chest. “M’not very loveable. Were right, all pie and… and no filling.”

Jaskier’s eyes are sliding shut and Geralt can hear Ciri crying. He looks at Yennefer and she nods at him. “It’s okay,” she says. “I know this will work.”

Geralt doesn’t know that, doesn’t have faith in it the same way she does, but he finds himself cradling Jaskier’s face in one hand and pressing his mouth oh so gently to the bard’s, just in case he never gets the chance again. Jaskier tastes of blood and he doesn’t move when Geralt kisses him and when Geralt pulls his face away he wants to scream, because he can’t hear Jaskier’s heartbeat and it didn’t work.

“It didn’t work,” he says, but Yennefer shakes her head.

“No I can feel it. The blood magic, it’s gone. I know it is.”

Geralt growls, still holding Jaskier protectively. “Then why isn’t he breathing?”

As if on cue, Jaskier takes a huge, shuddering breath and sits up. Ciri screams and Yennefer drops her hands from Jaskier’s chest, which no longer has a gaping wound in it.

Geralt doesn’t think, just pulls Jaskier towards him, crashing their mouths together. There’s no finesse, it’s messy, a clash of teeth and tongues, but Jaskier is breathing. He’s bringing his hands up to bury them in Geralt’s hair, practically pulling himself into the witcher’s lap. When Geralt finally let’s go of him, Jaskier is bright red and speechless.

“Geralt? What?”, he gets out, before Geralt pulls him into another searing kiss.

“You’re so fucking stupid,” Geralt tells him when they come up for air. Yennefer appears to have taken Ciri and given them some privacy, and Jaskier scowls at his words. “Don’t give me that look, Jaskier, you could have died. Because of me.”

Jaskier looks suitably chastised. “It wasn’t just because of you. The spell… it promised that I would be happy for the rest of my life. I just needed to find someone who loves me back and all my troubles would be over.”

Geralt glances down at Jaskier’s arms, at the sleeves hiding those terrible scars. “I love you, Jas.” Geralt hates how surprised Jaskier looks at the words. “The kissing didn’t give it away?”

Jaskier shrugs. “You could have just been trying to be nice.”

“I’m not nice.”

“No, you’re really not,” Jaskier says with a grin. He slides off Geralt’s lap, getting to his feet and offering the witcher a hand up. “I love you too, by the way, just in case the whole dying thing wasn’t a clue.”

“Never do that again,” Geralt growls, tugging Jaskier back into his arms.

“I won’t,” Jaskier gasps as Geralt’s mouth moves to his neck. “Might I suggest we move this back to Yen’s? Where there’s an actual bed?”

“Alright,” Geralt says, almost smiling at how Jaskier immediately starts tugging on his hand and leading him out of the castle.

“Jaskier?” Geralt asks when they’re back in the carriage, squeezed together on one bench.

“Hm?” Jaskier looks up from where he’s been playing with Geralt’s fingers.

Geralt takes his hand properly. “Are you going to be okay? I know a lot of your… problems were effects of the spell, but not all of them, right?”

“No they weren’t,” Jaskier admits. “But I think I might be able to get better now.” He pulls Geralt in for another kiss, but the witcher doesn’t quite believe him. Not later in bed, or after that when they get back on the road again. Not until weeks later when he sees Jaskier pick up Ciri’s finished pipe and start to teach her a simple tune, his voice bright and clear as he sings along, pitch perfect despite Ciri’s fumbling fingers. Geralt grins and presses a kiss to Jaskier’s temple as the bard continues to sing, gesturing for Ciri to keep up.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Find me on tumblr @hefellfordean and leave a comment or Kudos if this didn't make you want to claw your eyes out xx


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